Chapter 18
I finally hear Demi’s lock click on her door after standing in the hallway for a handful of seconds waiting. Having her so close to me has my protective instincts working on overdrive, and I’m tempted to do something crazy like buy her a doorbell camera.
The thought lingers in my mind before I close and lock my own door, placing the eggs and coffee from Demi on the counter.
Jesus, she looked beautiful this morning, but I could tell she thought the opposite.
I can read Demi so fucking well, it surprises even me sometimes.
Sweatpants, no makeup, hair up in a messy bun, and the sweater swallowing her whole.
A fancy dress is great, but a low-key, just woke up on a Sunday morning kind of look stirs something inside of me.
When Demi texted that she needed to find something to eat for breakfast, I immediately thought of making her my signature omelet. I don’t cook often, and it isn’t because I don’t like to cook—I simply don’t like cooking for one.
Most of my meals are from delivery services—single-serve meals and snacks packed with protein and all the things I need for whatever current plan I’m on. But I’d love to have a reason to cook more. I’m no Nate in the kitchen, but I fucking love food and have always enjoyed trying out new things.
Birdie is perched on the small table I put next to the sliding glass door.
It gives her a good view of the outside while also making her feel bigger—I think—when she’s facing off with the bird.
I realized the moment I moved the table that I’m way too invested in my cat’s life, but I can’t have her feeling inferior when they’re having a standoff.
I take a sip from the coffee Demi sent me home with and let my head fall back after I swallow. I’ve never had coffee like this and it’s fucking insane how good it is. My black coffee is getting some serious competition lately.
Rummaging through my fridge, I take out all the things I need for this omelet.
Green peppers, ham, and onions, along with cheese and all the spices I know work well together.
It’s been forever since I’ve had one of these myself, but the Denver omelet is something I’ve been eating and making since I was a kid.
I take five minutes to chop up the peppers, ham, and onions, and then toss them into the skillet to let it all cook together before adding the eggs. It’s literally the easiest kind of food to make, but also easy to fuck up.
After a few moments, it’s done and plated, and I add a piece of toasted sourdough bread to the dish before heading back to my door.
“I’ll be right back again,” I say to Birdie as the door shuts behind me.
When I was at Demi’s thirty minutes ago, I noticed some baking items on her counter, but nothing looked omelet related so I think I’m in the clear bringing this over.
At least, I hope I am. I’ve been paying attention to Demi for years.
I’ve seen her eat egg sandwiches, different pastries, and plenty of cookies that have eggs in them so there’s no concern about any allergies.
I tap on her door in a rhythm and hear music coming from the other side. I can’t really make out what type of music it is, but it sounds upbeat so that’s a good sign. There’s a shuffle on the other side of the door, and I open my mouth to speak, but she beats me to it.
“Who is it?” she asks in a teasing tone, and my smile instantly spreads.
“Your neighbor.”
Demi pulls the door open with a smile of her own. She’s still wearing the same thing she had on earlier, except now I see the sleeves of her sweater are rolled up. Her hands are ring-free and polish-free—a difference from the black nail polish she usually wears.
“I knew it was you. I checked the peephole this time,” she says as she looks up at me and then notices the plate in my hand covered with Saran Wrap. “Oh.” She pauses, tilting her head as she stares at the food.
“Told you I’d bring the eggs back.” I shrug, stuffing my free hand into the pocket of my sweats.
“You…you made me an omelet?” The shock in her voice burns a hole in my chest. This woman is constantly surprised when someone does a nice thing for her, and it makes me want to run a fist into anyone who ever made her feel like doing something as simple as making her an omelet was a burden.
“Yeah, I’m known for my omelets.”
She smirks and I lower the dish to hand it to her.
“Oh yeah? By who?”
“The great state of Colorado.”
Demi nods as she smiles, looking down at the plate.
“I hope you like green peppers. That was the one thing I wasn’t completely confident in.”
Her head snaps up and she softly narrows her eyes at me. She tilts her chin down and then nods as if to say yes while the corner of her lip curves up.
She doesn’t invite me in and honestly, I don’t need her to. I just wanted to do something for her. I take a step away from her doorway. “Don’t let it get cold, Dem. Go eat.”
“Thank you, Liam.” Her words are practically a whisper.
“Welcome to the building.” I smile, walking away.
I’ve only seen Demi in passing around the facility a couple of times since last weekend. She’s been busy and so have I.
“Look at that fancy new watch,” I call out to Alex Farr, one of my teammates. “Someone’s using their extension money wisely.” I wink.
“Almost bought a boat, but ended up with a watch. I’d say that’s a smart financial decision.”
“I don’t know, man. I love my boat.”
“Exactly.” He chuckles, buttoning his shirt after practice. “You have a boat. Why spend my own money when my quarterback has one?”
“That’s my philosophy,” Ford chimes in as he strides up with a towel around his waist.
“Get dressed, no one else is walking around like this. What do you think this is?” I tease.
Ford flips me the finger, and Alex walks past me as he’s heading out.
“Mind if I leave a jersey for my niece?” he asks, motioning to the spare black chair next to mine.
I glance at it, noting another couple jerseys, a few hats, pictures, and an array of other objects scattered around.
“Go for it.”
“Thanks, man. She’s been bugging me. I figure I need some cool uncle points.”
I laugh. “I got you, big man.”
He palms my shoulder before he walks out, and I take my time changing while the rest of the team hurries out of the locker room. Today was our last practice before the regular season and in all the years I’ve been playing, I don’t think I’ve ever been hungrier to get into a game.
The adrenaline. The noise. The stadium and the fans. It rips through me in the best way possible. No matter what’s been going on in my life I’ve always felt the most alive under the lights and I’m ready for that feeling again.
I usually get bored during the offseason. I’d spend time going on meaningless dates, vacations for no reason other than to pass the time. But these last few months I haven’t wanted to do any of that.
It’s nearly five, and more than half of the guys are already gone, with the remaining few about to leave. Practice ended around three thirty, and between conversations, social media shenanigans, and outfit changes it usually takes the guys around an hour to clear out.
One afternoon last year, I had a teammate ask me to sign some hats for his kids, and I asked him to just put them on the empty chair near mine.
Somehow that ended up becoming “the chair,” and now every so often I’ll have a teammate or a staff member leave something there they want signed for someone.
I joke about it sometimes, but honestly?
It kind of chokes me up thinking that I get to do this—I’m just a kid from Boulder who likes to play football.
I play hard and I work hard, and I’m fucking honored that anyone even wants my autograph, let alone enough people to have me set aside time every now and then to sign it all. I’m blessed, and I know that. But I also know I put in the work and I take a lot of pride in that.
No one outside this locker room knows I do this. Not my dad, not the media, no one. I don’t do it for any superficial attention or a pat on the back for signing autographs. It’s literally part of what I signed up for when I took this job, I don’t need a thank you for that.
I hit shuffle on my phone, letting the playlist shuffle through everything from blink-182 to Britney Spears. A song hums into the AirPod I have in one ear, and I pull the first thing that catches my eye to sign.
It’s one of my college football jerseys.
Talk about a blast from the past. I hold it up in front of me as I stand, admiring the gold and green colors with the number twelve on the chest. Fuck, I loved playing college football.
I think my time in college is what really solidified it for me.
I got to play with a coach outside of my dad.
Someone who truly made the game feel fun again.
Before I can spend too much time on nostalgia, I take a seat and grab the Sharpie from my duffle bag and sign it. I easily work my way through a handful of things from jerseys, photos, and a couple of hats, keeping myself focused on the task at hand.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Demi’s calming voice pulls my attention from the music, and I turn my head up to her. “I’m looking for Kelsea. I was told she was back here, I’m so sorry for intruding, they said all the players were gone,” she says.
Kelsea is the athletic trainer, but she left hours ago.
“Hey, Dem.” I grin. “Kelsea already left for the day, something I can help you with?” I position my entire body toward her as I stand.
Her dark brown curls cascading down both sides of her collarbone with the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen popping as she stares at me.
“Why are you still here?” She seems to put two and two together as her eyes shift to the marker in my hand and the pile of items to my right. “Are you signing things?”
I nod, swaying my hand in the air like it’s nothing. “I stay late sometimes and do it for the guys. It’s no big deal.”
Demi’s shoulder dips, and I watch her body nearly slouch as she hears what I’m saying.
“You’re staying late to sign things for the guys?”
“Despite you calling me a hotshot quarterback, I do have a heart you know, and am happy to do things for people.”
“I never assumed you didn’t have a heart,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just…” The pause in her reply has me taking a step toward her.
“Just what?”
“I’m constantly surprised by you, Liam.”